WHO: Alistair, a volcano, and the Normandy walk into a bar. WHAT: Here he is! WHEN: Today! WHERE: A volcano! :O WARNINGS: None. STATUS: In Progress because Shep wants to be like, "Who's that dude outside?"
Suddenly, Alistair Theirin found himself with the answer to a question he'd been asking himself for some time now. Where wouldn't he rather be than listening to Teagan drone on and on about so-called matters of importance? Answer: The steep incline of a hellishly hot mountain. Er, volcano, as the smoke billowing from the topmost point indicated. The king didn't know much about volcanos but he'd guess that this one was about to erupt any second now. Even if he was wrong on that count, he decided that this was probably not the best place for him to be. Everything beyond the rocky slopes was shrouded in a thick mist and yet it still seemed like getting off this volcano as quickly as possible still had to be a top priority.
With a grimace, he tugged at his furred collar and bent to tighten his boots for the hike. When he straightened up, he did so with a large rock in his hand. It wasn't the best weapon he'd ever had but a rudimentary weapon was always better than no weapon. In his haste to avoid melting straight down to his bones, he made it just a short way before stumbling and nearly falling over a bag of strange make that seemed to have even less business being there than he did. After just a moment's hesitation, he grabbed for the bag and slung it over his shoulder before continuing on his way. It was too damn hot to waste much time considering options. He just needed to get down.
One foot after the other, he carefully stepped his way down the rocky, unforgiving terrain. These boots, fine as they and as nicely as he tied them, were not meant for this at all. He slid and corrected his footing nearly every other step.
"As this is my first kingnapping, it may not be my place to criticize but," he began, finding some comfort in the sound of his own voice, "It seems to me you couldn't have possibly gone about this any sloppier." Alistair could feel the volcano's heat radiating through his dress boots and he picked up his pace. This was obviously the work of a mage. Perhaps even a Tevinter magister. No, perhaps not a Tevinter magister. Even the most poorly executed of a magister's plots could be expected to go a mite bit better than this. The kingdom would pay a much smaller ransom for a dead king than a live one and his kidnapper didn't seem particularly fussed about Alistair's safety thusfar.
By the time he reached the volcano's foothills, he was exhausted. It was dark. Within his boots, the soles of of his feet were either heavily blistered or getting there. What clothes he hadn't ditched were drenched with sweat. In the distance, he could just barely make out the form of something through the mist. Something quite large, he guessed, if his depth perception could be trusted at all by this point. The almost-sight inspired in him a second wind. It was, however, a second wind quickly lost when he got near enough to the mystery something that he should have been able to identify it. What he found was something he couldn't even put words to. Emblazoned on the side was the word Normandy and the only significance that word had to him was that it was on a gigantic, mysterious thing he had no interest in getting too close to. Alistair stayed a reasonable distance away and took a seat upon a very surprisingly pleasantly toasty rock.
As he finally opened the bag of strange make (Dalish, maybe? Dalish things were strange), he glanced up occasionally to make sure whatever that massive thing was stayed put. He set aside the contents of the bag one by one: A canister of something he sniffed and cautiously tasted before identifying as water, food in alien containers he'd never set eyes on before, a smooth, very shiny and black...skinny brick(?), and a blanket he didn't need in the slightest at this particular moment. Dejectedly, he sipped at the water in the canister and then laid back upon the rock, swiping a monumental amount of sweat from his brow. He'd need to find somewhere safer than this to truly rest but his muscles were on fire. This was the most strenuous work out he'd had in a very long time and he needed to get his bearings before he encountered something more alive than rocks and whatever the Maker's arse the Normandy was.